Rebirth
by horsecrazy2
Summary: A peek into Bella's mind during her transformation into a vampire.


**A/N: I'm working on an FF VIII novel right now, but with the impending release of Breaking Dawn, this was floating around my system and I just had to get it out. It's just a short piece on what it would be like if Edward really did try and change Bella--mostly I just wanted to see what I could do with the characters. I thought it might be interesting to crawl around in Bella's head for a little while. Let me know what you think! **

**Rebirth**

So this is how my story ends.

This is a new kind of pain, an agony like the timeless beating of ocean waves along a battered shoreline--ceaseless and omnipresent, undeniable and inescapable. I can't remember anymore why I wanted this so badly--somewhere beneath the acid throbbing of his venom in my veins, I can remember that once, once--a long time ago--this was my fantasy. But my fantasy had been all perfect, moonlight skin, amber eyes ringed with the shadowy purple half moons of impending hunger--my own face, just a thousand times more beautiful than it had ever been before my immortality.

And him, a flawless, motionless Adonis beside me, wearing my favorite smile forever.

But there is nothing now except the pain, and I know I am not strong enough to survive this. I am not the lithe, resilient whirlwind of endless enthusiasm that is Alice, and I am not the monstrous bear of indestructible frigid marble skin that is Emmett. I am just human--and a frail, soft one at that. I'm weak even among my own kind, and this--his greatest gift, and his ultimate sacrifice--is going to kill me.

I hear someone screaming--it must be me, but I don't feel anything ripping out of my throat. The cries I hear are keening, ululating, animalistic, and it scares me to think that I'm capable of noise like this. I think _You're going to scare Edward, _and I try to stop, because I know he must be sitting right beside me, holding my hand and crooning my lullaby beneath his breath, but his venom flash burns a path through my veins, and I can't remember anything except what it feels like inside me--even the rich velvet of his voice that is a permanent memory locked tight in my brain is slipping away.

_No! No--I can't forget that. Not that. _

My teeth lock rigidly against the thrashing convulsions my body goes into, and I realize that I can taste blood. It burns like poison on my tongue, like the crawling, squirming pinchers of a thousand scorpions, and I picture them clogging my throat, filling the cavity of my chest…they eat their way to the center of my heart, and I scream again. I feel this one, the shriek a predator's talon gouging its claw marks up the column of my throat.

My throat fills with blood, or saliva--I can't really tell which one. Very, very distantly, I feel cold fingertips brushing my sweaty forehead, so tenderly, so very carefully--Edward, his touch just a faint, faint graze of sensation through the million gauze layers of foggy pain that wrap me.

_I'm ok. Don't worry, ok, Edward?_

My lips can't form the words. For once I wish he could read my mind.

_"Bella?" _The voice sounds blurry, underwater-distant. For several seconds I panic--they are seconds that form one endless string of horror, an eternity of fear and uncertainty all dead bolted into one small sliver of time--because I can't remember for sure if that's his voice. It is smooth, soft, and from another century--anxious now, which is my fault. My guilt is a second burning sun in my gut, exploding beside the supernova heat where his poison congeals in my stomach.

I can't stand it anymore--I want to tell him I love him, because this is the end--it has to be, for my own sanity. But I know that will hurt him, and my mouth can only dribble pathetic, sobbing wails that leave an aftertaste of vomit in my mouth anyway.

A few splinters of image begin to shimmer in my head--they are like pieces of broken glass, not whole, each shard reflecting half memories that make my heart ache. That one over there, glittering like a million diamonds under early morning sunlight-- that's half of Edward's face, half of the eternally perfect marble features, and his beautiful, crooked smile. My smile. And that one--that's his shadowy form bent over me, his voice rasping my name in soft, urgent whispers while in the background blurring ghosts perform a silent horror film in the wall to wall mirrors of a ballet studio.

_Edward…_

I feel his hands on my forehead again, sliding away to frame my face--there is a plea in his voice now, cracking his beautiful intonation in half, like Beethoven's masterpiece destroyed halfway through by a misplaced note.

_"Bella, please…stay with me, please. Bella? Can you hear me. Please, Bella--hold on. You'll be all right. Carlisle…please…"_

_"I can't do anything for her now, Edward. I'm sorry." _

There's another scream, but it's not mine this time. The hands leave my face, and I miss them, even though their touch barely registers in my muddled brain.

The lingering imprint of his palms brings my last memory of him to the surface, his worried eyes and his perfect mouth hovering right in front of my face, so close I can feel the feathery caress of his sweet breath--I hold onto this last image, because I can feel myself drowning. The blackness waiting for me closes over my head like ink, like a starless night sky, forcing itself into the sockets of my eyes, my nostrils--invading my body like a rapist's unclean touch.

I hear him crying my name--_"Bella! Bella, please!"_--and then he's not there anymore--I can only see dream Edward now, memory Edward, just a spectral outline of the real thing, imperfect, but it's all I have now, so I walk willingly enough into his stone arms.

_His hands cradled my face, his thumbs brushing streaks of cold down my cheeks. I savored each burning trail, thinking how differently the unblemished smoothness of those fingers tracing their abstract patterns across my cheekbones would feel in a few days. The gold-flecked ocher of his eyes asked me a million questions--they were ones he was probably too afraid to ask aloud, which amused me despite the butterflies carving erratic paths through my stomach. _

_A nearly indestructible vampire who'd survived over a hundred years already--frightened of the words coming from a mere human's mouth. _

_Funny, I guessed, although my nerves were making it hard to laugh. The chuckle lodged in my throat, sharp like knife blades, cold like his lips where they brushed my temple--first on one side, so tenderly it was like the arctic whisper of winter, and then the other, fanning the saccharine perfume of his breath over my face. _

_"Are you sure, Bella?" His voice was the polite inquiry of a twentieth century gentleman--soft and mannerly, utterly free of any pressure--he was trying so hard for me, and it reminded me again of why I loved him. Not that I could really forget with his pale, ethereal face right in front of me, too faultless to be real, too striking to be mine. In the gilt-edged oval of the mirror that showed us ourselves, twined in a loose tangle of limbs on our wedding bed, I stared again in distaste at the difference between us: Edward, a wingless seraph glittering faintly in the light pooling from the room's single bulb, wearing it like a mantle of gold over his bare chest, and me, completely, painfully ordinary beside him. _

_I imagined myself with those bruised crescents of heliotrope beneath my eyes, translucently ashen--and gorgeous beyond words. Stronger than Emmett, as beautiful as Rosalie--maybe then I could finally feel worthy of the god man lying beside me. _

_"Yes." I said stubbornly, kissing his chin. "You promised me. I've waited for over a month."_

_"Yes, you've been very patient." he said, and I detected a faint note of teasing behind his voice. He smiled the smile he knew I liked best--but it didn't reach his eyes, and my gut curdled as I realized that I was hurting him. But I couldn't assure him I wouldn't make him do anything he didn't want to--I was too selfish for that, and for a moment my greed fire bombed my heart and turned it into a smoking pile of ashes--they scattered somewhere near my feet, each separate flake opening new lines of pain inside me, like track lines down a junkie's arms. _

_"I'm ready now."_

_"I know." he sighed, cupping my chin in his hand. "I'm just not sure I am." _

_"I trust you not to kill me." I did--he _couldn't _hurt me. It was as impossible as a human ripping out their own heart with nothing more than the strength in their puny, mortal hands. _

_"I know." The acknowledgement was another sigh, so quiet I almost didn't catch it. "I'm just not sure I trust myself." _

_"You didn't kill me after James bit me." I pointed out, playing with one of his hands. _

_"But I almost did." _

_"Are you going back on your promise?" I demanded, angry now. Jacob wouldn't be the only one to sample my right hook if he continued in this vein--although deep down I knew I couldn't hit him, and even if I did it wouldn't do much good. Punching solid rock generally did not end well for the vulnerable bone and cartilage of a human hand--particularly _my _human hand, so much more prone to injury than others. _

_"No, I'm not--a promise is a promise, Bella." His voice was tight now. "Where do you want to do this?" _

_I stared around for a moment, at our rumpled bedcovers and the cottony red billow of one of my shirts, puddled casually on the floor…my dog-eared copy of Wuthering Heights on the ornate dresser over which the mirror presided, the wall holding a picture of our wedding day, me zipped and buttoned tight into the old-fashioned lace of my dress…Edward beaming beside me, one arm around my waist, the glow of his joy a euphoric smolder in his pale, pale cheeks…_

_"Right here." I said. _

_"Right here." he repeated. "Right…now? This very second?"_

_"Yes. Bite me." _

_"Bella--" He circled my wrists with his hands, and delicately kissed the tips of my fingers. "You are absolutely sure this is what you want? Absolutely?" His eyes were tortured--I blocked that out and concentrated on the chill motion of his mouth across my fingertips. _

_"Yes. I want you, Edward."_

_"All right." he whispered. It sounded like defeat. "All right. Lie down, please." _

_I did so, my heart thundering out a thousand different drum beats, an endless cadence that fluttered beneath the soft skin of my throat like a caged bird. He stroked the pulsing of its trapped wings, running his thumb along the throb of my heartbeat, my last remaining link to humanity. He hissed as he did so, like my skin burned him, like he could barely stand to touch me, and that hurt, as did the revulsion in his eyes--he was about to have me forever--longer than forever, until the world itself died around us. Did he not want that anymore? _

_"Edward--" I began, swallowing around the lump in my throat, humiliated to feel the searing fork tines of pain that my hot tears raked across my eyes. _

_"Shh." he whispered, leaning over me to kiss the streamers of moisture. "Are you having second thoughts?"_

_"No." I replied, feeling stupid as I smudged salty water from my cheeks. "Are you? About…keeping me, I mean. If you do this, I won't ever leave you."_

_"Bella." he sighed, and there was almost laughter behind his words now, though ironic. "You are the most unintelligent smart person I have ever met--must I explain to you again how much you mean to me? I want you for the rest of my life, Bella--however long that may be. I hate myself right now, not you--please don't mistake that. I'm taking your soul, Bella, for my own selfishness. You have no idea how ridiculously hard this is."_

_"But it's what I want." I whispered. "You're not being selfish--I am." _

_"Well clearly we're both too selfish to just leave things as they were before we ever met--so I suppose we're meant to be together, as I keep telling you." He smiled crookedly, and bent to kiss me. _

_It was a good-bye kiss, hard and passionate in a way he didn't usually allow himself, edged with the faint reek of desperation and fear. _

_Then he was gone, and I could feel his lips brushing my throat, his teeth grazing my skin._

_I shut my eyes. _

Spirals of the darkness carry me back up now--they are the cold, alien eddies of a midnight ocean, and they burn me with their arctic chill and their briny vitriol. The eddies form clenched fists, and I can feel them pummeling everything, bruising down to the bone, beating me with their relentless fury when I am at my weakest.

My eyes peel themselves apart--I squint blindly as light spear jabs its way into my pupils, and the grateful faces of Esme and Carlisle swim drunkenly over me.

"Am I…?" My voice is just a hoarse croak, nowhere near the graceful wind chime that is Alice's voice, or the angel's opus of Rosalie's vocal cords, as overwhelmingly lovely as her face.

This is not how I expected to feel--I am like kneaded clay left beneath burning afternoon sunlight, rubbery and pliable, my muscles useless as before, feebly human. There is no supernatural strength coursing through the unbreakable granite of my body, no desperate, reckless need to slake a new thirst--_What's going on? _I wonder hazily.

"Bella." Esme's pretty, heart-shaped lips form my name, but her mouth moves wrong--I can hear my name first, like the out-of-synch audio on a badly dubbed TV show. "Bella, sweetheart, how do you feel?"

"Tired." I blurt out. "…Weird." I begin to ask if I'm finally beautiful, and think of a better question instead. "Where's Edward?"

Esme's slender brows link themselves together. "He thought you were going to die."

This sends a rush of panic through the numb, worthless lump of my body. The last time he thought I was dead, the idiot ran off to Italy and…I didn't want to think of that now. "Where is he?" I hear the terror in my voice and try to rein it back, wad it up in the Overreaction dust bin section of my mind, but it refuses to be compressed--it swells larger instead, blocking the whistling pinhole that is my airway. I can't live through this--what does he expect me to do? There's no easy out this time, like with the Volturi--my breath hitches, and I wonder whether I'm about to start crying or screaming.

"I'm right here, Bella." I hear him say, and the fractured splinters of my world begin to re-form themselves.

He sounds exhausted. I blink through the intrusive light in the direction of that beautiful accent, and there he is, framed in the spilled gold of the light above me, paler than usual, the silken chalk of his cheeks glowing alabaster white in the room's soft illumination. His eyes stare hollowly at me; he crosses the room as Esme and Carlisle disappear silently to give us our privacy--Esme dropping a quick, motherly kiss on my forehead--and stops with one hand slightly extended, like he's not quite sure he should touch me.

"It didn't work, did it." I whisper, and shut my eyes in agony. Forever human, forever plain--forever aging.

"I almost lost you." he says quietly, and his voice is ripe with fresh pain, with the agony of an unhealed wound. "I had to--" His voice catches, just like mine a minute earlier, and I wish I could erase the suffering from his velvet tone. "I had to suck the venom out again, like I did before, with James." he explains slowly, like I need clarification. Maybe he halted over the less significant stuff, because he could hardly stand what was coming next. "But…the poison…_my _poison had spread so much…there are so many scars, Bella. I'm sorry."

The anguish in his eyes strikes me a solid hammer blow to the chest; I gasp beneath its crushing assault, and strain my fingertips for the unearthly beauty of his tormented face. This is me again, all me, putting that pain in his eyes and trapping his lips in that twisted snarl of a half-scowl, an expression that can't even begin to relate the disgust I know he feels for himself.

"Edward--"

"You weren't surviving the transformation, Bella." he says, kneeling next to me and stroking one of my hands. I can barely feel it, with everything still mostly dead, just a few fragments of sensation beginning to prickle their way back to life beneath my skin.

I realize that when I regain full awareness, I'll feel the same coldness that James' scar traps beneath the surface of my flesh--repeated a hundred different times around my body. I almost laugh at the irony of it--he can't change me into one of them, but I'm almost as cold as he is anyway, a reminder of what I could have had but never will.

I stare down at his head where it's bowed over my hand. He can't even look at me.

I stroke his hair, though I can't really feel the satiny down of tangled bronze. "It's ok, Edward. I know you tried. Maybe I'm just meant to stay human." I smile faintly, even though an iron fist is slowly pulverizing my heart to viscous juice in its cruel palm. Jake will be happy.

"Bella--"

I shake my head, too disappointed, too relieved, too happy, too sad, to even contemplate speaking.

The bedsprings squeak beneath his descending weight as he lowers himself carefully over me, softly picking sweaty hair out of my eyes. "I'm sorry." he says again, and again I shake my head.

His arms form their familiar vise grip around me, and I realize my story begins again the same way it ended--with his chill, fond touch dragging me into unconsciousness, and his voice humming its dulcet melody that I have memorized like his face.

_I'm going to get old. _I think. _I'm going to get old and die, and then he's going to kill himself. _

I think about lost immortality for a long time before I finally fall asleep, and when I do, I dream about my face--two sides of the same coin, one the sagging, cotton-bud-headed visage of Gran, of lost youth, the other my smooth-cheeked teenage features--but a million times prettier, a million times more exotic, the midnight purple smudges beneath my eyes perfect arks from a painter's skilled brush on the white canvas of my skin.

And the whole time, Edward is there, holding the hand of this two-faced creature, smiling into its face like he can't see the wrinkles or the age spots or the flaps of skin that hang in loose banners from its shrunken jaw.

So I suppose this is how my story really ends.


End file.
